


(you've got) the magic touch

by anomalousity



Series: various drabbles [19]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-11
Updated: 2014-08-11
Packaged: 2018-02-12 16:23:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2116638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anomalousity/pseuds/anomalousity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Hey, Bucky?”</p><p>“Hmm.”</p><p>“Can I play with your hair?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	(you've got) the magic touch

**Author's Note:**

> Title shamelessly stolen from The Magic Touch by The Platters.
> 
> Yell at me on [tumblr](http://buckybaarnes.co.vu/).

“Hey, Bucky?”

“Hmm.”

“Can I play with your hair?”

Bucky looks up at him from where he was burrowing down in Steve’s lap, eyes half lidded with exhaustion and contentment and lips curled in wary concern. Steve understands it; hell, he wouldn’t blame Bucky for getting up and walking back to the room that he hasn’t used once since he and Steve started sharing this floor of Stark Tower. He sucks his lower lip, trying not to look like he’s watching Bucky and knowing that he’s failing, as he waits for Bucky to answer.

Finally, after a sigh, he murmurs, “okay.”

Slowly he relaxes back into Steve’s lap, curled fingers relaxing and bundling under the back of his head, pillowing against Steve’s knees. He’s curious; the wide eyed expression he’s sporting is something forgotten by Hydra’s scientists and remembered by Steve and Steve alone. He smiles before carefully brushing a strand away from his face, releasing a breath he didn’t know he was holding when Bucky turns into it.

The soft sounds of the television are all but ignored as Steve builds his confidence, gently racking his nails over Bucky’s scalp and relishing in the contented sigh Bucky gives at the sensation. It’s oddly calming, for Bucky surely, but for Steve too. It’s like an old habit that he’s finally rekindled, though he doesn’t recall doing this back in Brooklyn.

Well no, he recalls it, but Steve was in Bucky’s position.

Maybe Bucky liked touching him like this, liked holding him and calling him precious and all that shit that Steve wouldn’t take back then, because it made him feel safe. Maybe, and Steve doesn’t know a damn thing about the inner workings of Bucky’s new mind, but maybe that’s why he’s letting Steve do this, letting him spread him open and explore the galaxies and boundless space of his being because he wants to do just the same from where he’s easing the protective mask from his demeanor, one soft sigh at a time.

If that’s true, Steve doesn’t know what to do with it. So he chooses not to think and slides his fingers over the slope of Bucky’s bristly cheekbone, pausing to thumb at the plump swell of his lip, before bringing his hands back to his hair and tangling in the soft strands.

“That’s nice,” Bucky murmurs when Steve moves his ministrations to the hair at his name.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he replies.

Steve smiles and continues doing that, shifting his gaze from Bucky’s face back to the television. Tony and Bruce insisted that he and Bucky watch _Friends_ because it was amazing, or something. Steve’s not really seeing the appeal, but Bucky liked it when he was watching it a couple days ago.

He dazedly watches an episode, relaxing at the sounds of Bucky’s breathing and unmuted sounds of pleasure. When another starts, he glances down at Bucky only to find him fast asleep, lips parted and curled upwards at the corners, usually crumpled brow smooth for the first time in god knows how long.

It’s almost ridiculous, how wide the expression makes Steve grin.

He ducks down to press a kiss to Bucky’s temple, giving him a gentle shake on the shoulder to rouse him. Bucky blinks up at him slowly, wrinkling his nose at the bright light and the fading sunset still shining through the large windows.

“Wha’ time’s it?” he asks, rough voiced and bleary eyed.

Steve smiles and helps Bucky up as he murmurs, “just after nine.” Bucky’s pliant in his arms as he tugs him off the couch, metal fingers coming to grasp Steve’s shirt just above his hip.  His right hands catches Steve’s fingers and squeezes. “Ready for bed?”

Bucky nods, then after a moment smirks. “I’m sure there’s an old guy joke in there.”

“Well to be fair,” Steve starts, lips stretching into a grin. “We _are_ old guys.”

It gets him a raised eyebrow, but he follows Bucky when he pulls them towards their bedroom, making sure to ask JARVIS to get the lights before they disappear into the welcoming darkness and find each other’s arms all but blind and hungry for each other’s skin.

When they collapse in a heap atop the sheets, warm and tired and limber and desperate, Steve smiles because _this_ is what he’s always wanted. Not some cushy life with a girl from the art college that Bucky worked tooth and nail to send Steve to, not some cliché over the top romance with an infantry man from English forces, despite what Dum Dum used to imply about him and Falsworth.

Just… this. However imperfect it is, Steve knows it’s meant for him. And when he catches Bucky’s lips in the dark, only the fading twilight illuminating his profile and the stark nakedness of his body against the dark of the room, he knows Bucky agrees.


End file.
